Love is merely a madness.
Can I go forward when my heart is here?
Tis the times' plague, when madmen lead the blind.
Thou call'st me dog before thou hadst a cause, But since I am a dog, beware my fangs.
His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise.
For naught so vile that on the earth doth live But to the earth some special good doth give.